


Contrast is Everything

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [53]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Best Friends, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 15:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14937383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: “You are,” Loki would say, had their whole lives, “the most boring motherfucker I’ve ever met.”“Then remind me,” Thor would say. “Why the hell are we friends?”





	Contrast is Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: _Everything you see is an example of spontaneous perfection_ and _friends to lovers_. Prompts from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator) and [this one](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/prompts).

They were on the couch after dinner, ostensibly watching TV. Loki was breezing through his phone and Thor was pleasantly sleepy, his brain weighed down with the two beers he’d had with dinner, the one he’d had before. They’d eaten takeout because it was Friday and neither of them had any interest in cooking. Well, Loki never did, but most nights he could be convinced to at least boil water. Not tonight, though. Not tonight.

He’d been quiet all evening, which was odd. Usually, Loki was anxious to spill the gossip of the day about his coworkers, about all the ill-informed rich people who’d wandered into the gallery and bombarded him with stupid questions about the art they could afford but not appreciate as anything other than shit to hang on their walls; that was worth a good 20 minutes of chatter right there. Then there were the invariable bus-related complaints and a brief monologue about how he really must start saving for a car, something small and sleek and not at all practical--“Just like you,” Thor would usually interject, just so Loki would give him the finger--followed invariably by a rundown on whatever book he was reading or podcast he was obsessing over, all before asking Thor, however perfunctory: “Anyway. How was your day?”

But tonight, none of that; a weird sort of radio silence. It happened, sometimes, when he’d had an especially demanding customer or his father had called or his latest paramour had done the inevitable and finally broken his heart. Thor had learned from experience not to push too hard when Loki went quiet, when he folded everything in and kept himself to himself. It just made the silence run longer, Loki’s unhappiness deeper.

At least, Thor told himself as he kicked out of his suit and reached for his semi-clean jeans, Loki hadn’t locked himself in his room. Sometimes that happened. And that kind of self-imposed isolation never ended well, usually in tears and alcohol poisoning and it was too nice an evening to spend it in the ER. So he resolved to just let Loki be.

He’d ordered from the Thai place three blocks over, dialed up both their usuals, and Loki had accepted the food without comment, his eyes never leaving whatever he was staring at on the TV. Ah. _Little House on the Prairie_.

Thor had settled at the far end of the couch and eaten his drunken noodles and watched Loki eat enough of his japchae to make a dent and that made him feel better, made some of the worry that had gathered at the base of his neck relax. Eating was a good sign. Talking would be better. But beggars and best friends couldn’t be choosers. He’d learned long ago with Loki that he had to take what he could get.

It wasn’t that Loki was hard to understand or anything; after almost 20 years as friends, there wasn’t much he could do or say to surprise Thor anymore. He liked change, did Loki, forever craved transformation, whether that was of his person or his bedroom or his career path; any hint of stagnation, of the staid, and he would, as he was prone to say, go absolutely mad. It drove other people crazy--a long line of lovers, the smattering of occasional casual friends--but Thor found it strangely comforting, knowing that Loki was quicksilver, ever-changing, never quite the same man today that he would be tomorrow. Whereas Thor, by contrast, was the definition of steady: same job for a decade, same clothes for at least that long, same circle of friends he’d had since high school. He’d never dated anybody for less than six months, never made a purchase on a whim. He called his mother every Monday night at 7 and drove the same route home at the end of each day and always bought Heineken Light _._

“You are,” Loki would say, had their whole lives, “the most boring motherfucker I’ve ever met.”

“Then remind me,” Thor would say. “Why the hell are we friends?”

And Loki would grin his sneaky grin and raise his eyebrows, green shining out from his narrow, pale face. “You’re the black to my red,” he’d say. “You make me look all the more brilliant. Contrast is everything, oaf.”

 _Little House of the Prairie_ ended, Melissa Gilbert bounding precious through some golden field, and _Matlock_ began. Loki’s attention didn’t waver. In fact, there was no sign he’d even noticed the change--which was proof fucking certain that something was terribly wrong because Loki hated courtroom shows. Hated Andy Griffith even more.

“Lo,” Thor said, aiming for subtle. “You seen the remote?”

Nothing.

Thor set down his dinner and made no show about staring. “Loki,” he said in his corporate voice, the one he used with especially boneheaded clients who he wasn’t allowed to tell to fuck off. “Hey. Look at me.”

He saw Loki’s jaw twitch, his eyes cut to the side. “What?”

“Have you seen the--?”

Loki cut him off, a voice like dull brass. “You can get up and change the damn channel, Thor. I don’t give a fuck. I’m going to bed anyway.”

“Fine,” Thor said. He didn’t move.

“Fine,” Loki said. Neither did he.

There was a long, tense silence cut only by the television, a round of basic cable commercials. And then Thor said: “What’s wrong?”

Loki swallowed, shoved his plate across the coffee table. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right.”

“I don’t want to,” Loki said, “but I have to. I’m so--” He stopped, looked at Thor for the first time since he’d walked in the door. “It’s stupid. It shouldn’t bother me. I don’t fucking know why it does.”

Thor sat back a little. Tried to give Loki some space. “Ok. I’m listening.”

Loki twisted his fingers together, drew his shoulders up tight. “Did you know,” he said, “that some people think that we’re married?”

It took Thor a second to process, to really hear what Loki had said, because of all the things he could think of that might have sent Loki into a spiral, this was not that. “I, uh. They do?”

“Mrs. Peterson down the hall. She stopped me in the elevator today. Wanted to know what our secret was.”

“What?”

Loki turned his head, met Thor’s eyes. “She said she’s never seen two people more in love than you and me, in all her 85 years on this earth.”

There was a storm in Thor’s head, a rumble that made his ears ring, his face feel stiff and tight. He should’ve been laughing. He should’ve been slapping Loki on the back and yukking it up and generally dismissing such a damned absurd notion. He and Loki, together? He and Loki _married_? Jesus christ. Please.

They knew each other too well. They’d lived together too long. They’d seen too much of the mess that was the other’s love life that they’d never make the mistake of wandering into it. Fuck no.

But he wasn’t laughing and neither was Loki and why the hell weren’t they, exactly?

“I didn’t have the heart to burst her delusion,” Loki said.

“Why not?”

Loki’s eyes flushed, his cheeks a sudden, magnificent pink. “That,” he said, “is the question I’ve been asking myself all night.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...this one got away from me. Sorry, 25 minute time limit.


End file.
